Full Circle
by Athena Solaris
Summary: [One shot, light DSF RevanCarth] She would not let the Force control her. She would control it, and write her own fate, the wishes of her stupidly and blindly loyal companions be damned.


This is loosely based on an alternate DSF ending to the Carth romance. You can find it on YouTube (just like everything else these days...). Feedback would be infinitely appreciated. Anyway, here goes nothing.

**Full Circle**

The lessons anyone cared to recall about control seemed all but lost on her lately. Life, once so precious and sacred to her, was now something to be ended, trifled with, and lived in striking fear, feeling fear, or not at all.

Amazing how a single revelation could change someone so.

Since Revan, formerly Milee Sarr, had learned her true identity aboard Saul's Leviathan, she had left behind the light she had lived and perhaps even reveled in before 'Revan' became more than just a name to her. The change was subtle at first: shadows seemed to cling to her as she moved. Fires once controlled and only apparent in battle now blazed in her eyes at all times. She began to forgo meditation in favor of sparring exercises. A request for help became an open invitation for a derogatory response dripping with sarcasm. Reason and persuasion lost their use in her eyes. Threats became a matter of course. Killing was always a viable option. Eventually, it would come to the point where she would switch her lightsaber off and use a vibroblade to finish a kill, in order to create the red mists she had become so fascinated with.

She used to spend most waking moments with Carth and Jolee, engaging in a triad of friendly insults, never with the intention of harm, simply a contest of camaraderie. Her time was now spent either alone or in the company of Canderous or HK-47, even when she was planet-side. She had abandoned her conscience, and denied any say in the matter to those who disagreed with her. In this way, she showed a twisted form of remorse; she would not let the others witness her fall first hand, whether out of shame or sadism.

She remembered with disgust the innocents she had assisted, even saved. Her greatest regret was turning Juhani back to light, and thus returning one of the Jedi's beloved puppets. She could have spared the Cathar the unbearable pain of being used, and given her death instead.

Death. It was something she wished for, at times. The mere thought of what the Council had done, how they had twisted and convoluted her into something she was never meant to be—and so easily—left her with a frustrating feeling of helplessness that soon turned into hate. Hate for the weakness she felt. Hate for the fools around her who tried to call her back into the light. Hate for those who could not see that they were being manipulated, used by the Force. It was a twisted relationship she had with the Force. She hated it for using her, but loved it for its power, all at once. She would not let the Force control her. She would control it, and write her own fate, the wishes of her stupidly and blindly loyal companions be damned.

That was the one and only thing the old man had going for him. Jolee never tried to steer her one way or the other. He didn't try to control her. He let her follow her own path and did little more than shudder when she did something he disagreed with. However, whenever she accidentally gave him the chance, he would spew tales she saw as Jedi parables at her. For a brief instant, it would seem that he was pleading with her to turn away from the path she had chosen. But just as quickly as that look appeared, Jolee would return to his deceptively hair-brained self. And it was just as well. Her temper had been infamous before, and was now beyond words.

Juhani had recently been on the receiving end of Revan's sharp tongue. The Cathar had dared to mention that Revan was turning on everything she had known and loved. Revan's only possible response was to remind Juhani of her own failures, of how pathetically weak she was for scurrying back to the Jedi.

One by one, Revan alienated her former friends and allies. Even Mission and Zaalbar, who had stood by her the longest of the others, aside from Carth, could barely approach her without being belittled, insulted, or threatened.

Of course, the change was not lost on them. Carth was particularly vocal about how she had changed, inside and out, and yet he seemed unwilling to abandon his stupid, confused love for her.

The thought amused her. She was Revan, and she was even more powerful now than before Malak betrayed her, when she held the galaxy in a vice-grip of terror. She had no need for Carth, his love, or his help.

She was not weak anymore.

Before, the light had wafted around her like a gentle breeze, soothing her temper, healing her and filling her when she felt broken and disheartened. It had been coddling her, she now realized. The Jedi had only held her back, had only hidden things from her. Her past, her identity, her fate. She hated the fools, and yet she could not kill them outright. To do so would mean losing most of her remaining allies.

That, to her, was her weakness. Although she could not deny that there was certain strength in numbers, those same numbers would be easily thinned. And just how strong could a collective of the weak be? She would not let those too frightened to leave the light walk with her. If one could not tread in the unknown, in the dark, then one was not deserving of life.

And that had been the reason, no, the justification, behind Carth's death at her hand. How long had he gone on with hate in his heart? How long had he searched for his son, mourned the loss of his wife, and sought revenge on those who had robbed him of family? Years. For years, he was driven by hate. But he never embraced it, and that weakness, that purity of spirit was abhorrent to her. Why couldn't he let go? Why did he cling to the light and the Jedi and the dying Republic?

How had she let herself be drawn into his martyrdom?

All this and more crossed her tormented mind. In moments, the bulkheads of the Star Forge would give, and Revan's great fortress, her fortress, would be no more. And instead of escaping to continue her reign of terror, to gather the tenuous allies she could to grasp the Republic and the Jedi by their throats, she was still kneeling by Carth's side, holding his bloodied hand.

He had tried to stop her. He tried to have her kill Bastila, and die herself as the Republic destroyed the Star Forge. She refused, and dealt him a single mortal wound.

Bastila had told her it was time to go. Time to rally the Sith and finish the Republic before moving on to destroy the Jedi. She killed Bastila for her audacity in presuming to give her orders. The Republic would soon win.

In those final moments, while holding the hand of a man who had dared to love her and loved her even now, she realized what a twisted, horrible creature she had become. She had never had strength. It was all an illusion created by a galaxy that clung foolishly to the Jedi and their version of the Force. Carth had been right. There was still a part of her that believed in hope, mercy and love. It had been there all along, undermining her every effort to become what she was meant to be. She was weak and despicable. She, who had ended the useless lives of so many she thought to be weak, was weak herself.

With her final breath, she cursed her weakness. At the moment of her death, her life had come full circle.


End file.
